Eighty-one Squares
by Lord of Judgement
Summary: ... or what Gaius, Wingul and the rest of the Chimeriad do when no one is looking. A series of short stories posted in no particular order (and complimentary to my other fics). Gaius/Wingul.
1. Surrender

**Summary**: A series of short stories which didn't fit anywhere else and which are centered around Gaius, Wingul and the Chimeriad. Posted in no particular order. Complimentary pieces to '_Trials_...'

**Warning**: Violence, various explicit content.

**Pairings**: Gaius/Wingul.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Tales of Xillia _world, story or characters.

**Author's Note:** For** Yume Hanabi** and other Gaius, Wingul and GaiWin fans out there xD

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**List of names I keep from the original Japanese game because for reasons their localized version did not click with me at all:**

_Kanbalar – _Khan Baliq

_Auj Oule – _Ajur

_Long Dau _- Londau

_Fezebel_ - Fayzabad

_Erston_ - Arst

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**EIGHTY-ONE SQUARES**

**Surrender**

When Wingul designs stratagems for real battle, he is careful to a degree of meticulous pettiness, he utilizes every available advantage and mercilessly exploits the enemy's weaknesses. Then he reads over his designs once and twice and thrice with a critical attitude of a demanding perfectionist until he is completely satisfied, and Gaius knows that look of contentment on his face; his repressed smile and a glimmer of excitement in his greenish eyes are difficult to misconstrue. When Wingul plays shogi, he is impatient and brazen, he loves taking unnecessary risks and Gaius knows that he won't be content unless he wins, starting at a considerable disadvantage.

The battle at Fayzabad Marsh is about to commence, they leave Khan Baliq in the morning and Wingul plays as he always does, forfeiting his rook and bishop before the battle on the board divided into eighty-one squares even begins. Gaius doesn't need to boast of his skills; he never forfeits a single piece and nevertheless he often loses to Wingul's mastery to construct unique defensive formations. His favorite one he named after the Daybreak Citadel and, like the walls of the Ajur capital, its walls are impregnable. He employs both of his golden and silver generals, his knight and his lance, joking that since it is his duty to serve and protect the king of Ajur, no one protects his small artificial king better than him. To that conceited remark, Gaius with a wan smile on his lips replies that since he has defeated the former king twice, he will subjugate any small artificial foe with ease. In truth, although he never loses on purpose, he doesn't mind suffering a defeat if it makes his closest adviser happy.

But that evening Gaius's head aches and although they play in silence, it seems to him he hears snow as it slowly falls onto the windowsill of the window he keeps ajar. In the soft yellow light, Wingul appears pale, but he is always pale, himself not unlike a piece on a shogi board. Gaius's Golden General.

"Everything is in place, Your Highness," he says, looking at the board where his pieces are perfectly aligned in a _Daybreak Citadel_ formation and Gaius doesn't know whether he talks about the game or the battlefield. "It cannot be achieved with more perfection. They expect us from Sapstrath Seahaven and we will come from that accursed marsh where the spirit clime is hopelessly damaged."

"You're awfully formal," the king answers, picking up his knight and tapping it on the table. "Your tone only worsens my headache. What use do I have for you if you can't protect me from a nuisance such as this? All your stratagems and intricate designs are impressive... but for headaches I have to call a castle healer." Gaius knows it is useless to make a move, for he has already lost, but he continues tapping his knight on a polished wooden tabletop as if to deter the moment when he will have to surrender not out of shame or any other petty sentiment but because he doesn't want Wingul to leave. He could order him to stay, but his closest adviser knows him too well. He doesn't issue orders on a whim. "Do you think Maxwell will try to interfere?"

"I would if I were her. It's only sensible to use mayhem of war as cover... Are you going to make a move or will you finally surrender?" Wingul says softly. "There won't be miracles this time."

Gaius heaves a sigh and gives his king to Wingul, "I surrender."

"What irony... A king of Ajur surrenders to the king of the shogi board. I should have been used to it by now, but every time you say those words aloud, I..."

"Don't get used to it."

Gaius obstinately arranges the pieces on the board and they are playing again and again he is losing to his adviser. Wingul is a formidable opponent whether his head aches or not and shogi pieces do not respond to inspirational words, calling them to march bravely into battle; they stand there in a perfect formation, staring at him with silent reproach, mindless lances, generals and pawns.

"You still haven't told me why you recognized that girl who travels with Maxwell. Was she with you in Labari Hollow?" He takes Wingul's Silver General after sacrificing his pawn and his rook and smiles contently.

"You have short memory, my king."

"It's useful to forget sometimes. Think, Wingul. Think how much happier you are because you _don't_ _always_ remember..."

"I don't believe you, you don't simply forget. You want to hear me explain it to you because... ah, I understand now... But you have nothing to worry about. Of all misfortunes which befell me, you're not at fault for Nils's death."

"Do you think I was unfair when I did not allow him to join the Chimeriad?"

"Ah, Your Highness... an evening of intriguing confessions."

"I need to know, Wingul."

"You have deflected your attention from the board and I take your lance now... Have I ever thought you were unfair? A few times, perhaps, but not in his case. I was unfair to him myself and because I realized it belatedly, I will fulfill his dying wish..."

The king needs but one glance at the board to understand that his positions are doomed. "You really are in a bad mood tonight... Arst..." remarks Wingul in a changed voice. "You can't even play shogi properly, you make childish mistakes..."

"You're a worthy adversary, you've always been." Gaius reclines in his chair and in his mind's eye the world appears a simple colorless map divided into eighty-one perfect squares.

When Wingul plays shogi, he is impatient and brazen, he can't help but take unnecessary risks and in the rare moments they are together, he isn't any different. Gaius doesn't hear him approach, only feels the light touch of his fingers as he puts something small and warm into his palm. The king guesses what it is even before a quiet whisper reaches his ears, "However worthy, I won't ever be your adversary."


	2. Lyricist

**Author's Note:** Blame Xillia's perfect guide, **Yume Hanabi** and her awesome translations. xD Haiku and ideas for them (since I am not exactly a haiku writer) are borrowed from Matsuo Basho and Hijikata Toshizou, the vice-commander of the Shinsengumi, because that man wrote the silliest haiku I've ever read.

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**Lyricist**

Wingul's endeavors to write haiku begin with rather innocent pieces like the one he had impromptu scribbled down, observing the social decencies according to which professing love and admiration for certain qualities (and body parts) of such renowned public figure as the king of Ajur was considered tactless and obscene.

_The sun's way:  
hollyhocks turn toward it  
through all the rains of May._

Then the tone and the subtext of his writing invariably changes. The content is still innocent, but it calls forth justified questions about the nature of his poetic effusions. He writes something like this:

_The fall approaches,  
But my head reels achingly  
As on the first day of spring. _

Or this:

_Even in his embrace,  
how I long for his embrace  
when the cuckoo sings._

Ever since Wingul was a child, he felt a natural inclination towards art and literature, but years passed before he found an outlet for his artistic impulses, gave his fancy a will to fly freely. He didn't miraculously discover in himself a hidden talent for poetry, however, he did discover an unexpected source of inspiration which gave his shapeless thoughts a strange and wistful shape. At first, he hardly understood it himself why he was inspired to write about a man whose role in his life was so ambivalent and his beginnings were youthful and timid attempts to while away the long sleepless nights before battles. As Gaius led Taurus from one victory to another, Wingul rarely had the luxury to ponder over his confusing passions until one day it just happened and he made sense of everything, of the sparks of strange inspiration, of the aching longing in his heart, of the moments when he would be unable to look into Gaius's eyes even if threatened with torture. He was hopelessly in love with the future king of Ajur. Actually, without the hopeless part.

There was no event more deteriorating and defining to his naïve and shy and dreamy inner self than the night on which he surrendered himself to Gaius a second time.

At first, Wingul tried to fight it, but he had as much success as he would, playing shogi with just one king and a few pawns.

_I surrender myself  
Fervently, with bitter pleasure  
Like a pawn in shogi. _

He wrote afterwards.

But as it always happens, a relationship even as sacred and intimate as his secret liaison with the king, with time becomes if not a routine, then familiarity, the god commits sacrilege toward himself, and instead of high-flown descriptions of his feelings, Wingul eventually churns out something quite licentious.

_All pleasures of food  
And exquisite wines are naught  
Against your skillful tongue._

Then he finds a taste for it. Unbeknownst to Gaius himself, there is a more lewd version of the song which he wrote to promote the king's dumplings and, consequently, his popularity.

_...Watch it, stroke it, lick it,  
A mouthful of warm sweetness,  
And a moan of pleasure... _

Once Gaius interrupts his ritualistic process of writing another dedication to one of his marvelous body parts. It is a rare feat for Wingul to render the king speechless and at first, speechless and embarrassed himself, he cannot appreciate the rarity of that moment.

"You wrote a... poem about my... _that_?! Are you out of your mind, Wingul?" Gaius's countenance changes.

He is a renowned tactician with considerable battle experience therefore he recovers quickly and, with one of his audacious smiles, retorts, "How is it any different from your attempt to conquer Ajur? Or your suggestion to have sex on the throne, Your Highness? I retained my wits, all right."

Gaius narrows his eyelids, but his outward indignation and astonishment are not displayed longer than necessary. "Fine, have it your way. I expect you in my bedchambers this evening, read me your whole anthology and then forget you have ever written it. I forbid you to speak of it to anyone but myself!"

That night Gaius is tender and not intimidating in the least – a rare moment, too – and Wingul kisses him slowly and makes love to him slowly, doing homage to those amazing body parts in a different albeit no less delightful way. No, not to Gaius, to Arst Outway.

There still is a little bit of a difference.


	3. Boredom

**Author's note:** this is totally... self-indulgent.

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_Waitun umu, Arst (Londese)_ – Come in, Arst.

_Shi tiaeti baesu yaiodi umutin'mutiuimusu, Lin (Londese) – _So that was your intention, Lin.

_U etu miti jimun bautia yaio _(_Londese_) – I am not done with you.

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**Boredom**

"Wingul, your sour look is neither reassuring nor inspiring to watch," says Presa, walking into the room with her peculiar tempting gait which often draws the attention of guards and servants. "Is something the matter with His Highness?"

"Is it _that_ obvious?" Wingul replies irritably. "He is bored and it isn't a typical boredom. I call it royal boredom because His Highness is insufferable in this state. And what would you have me do? Should I call a good citizen in and instruct him to pretend he has a request to discuss with the king? Or should I dress like a jester, in yellow and red, put on a headwear with little bells, and dance before his throne so that he would start paying attention to us? Every respectable king in the past had a court jester."

"I'd pay to see that. Wingul the Jester... I mean it's a bit degrading compared to Wingul the Ebony Wing or Wingul the Nova," she purses her lips, "but it suits you. Everyone praises you for your resourcefulness. Can't you think of a trick or two to deal with him since you're also the king's _mistress_?"

Long ago, Wingul learned not to blush when straightforwardly reminded about his liaison with His Highness. On the one part, he despises public displays of affection, he keeps to the shadows and revels in secrecy; on the other, he is proud of himself and _his_ Chimeriad because it means he had chosen them well for the task of observing the government officials if his secret cannot remain secret for long. "No, he doesn't want to talk to me either. He sits and stares at me silently and it's unnerving to bear that heavy stare. As if you feel the weight of the whole world on your shoulders... His active nature, Presa, rebels against languid flow of life. Albeit still rare, this apathy of his revealed itself only recently; it stayed very well hidden before. When he led Taurus, we spent every day on the edge, wondering if that sunrise was the last we saw, if that frugal meal by the fire was the last we ate, if..." If they would nevermore share another kiss, Wingul thinks to himself. "It was an addicting lifestyle."

"Do you miss those days?"

He pushes the papers aside, clearing an empty space for a book, but changes his mind. Instead he wraps himself in a warm white coat, climbs into a deep chair and puts his hands onto the fretted wooden armrests – in such a pose, stooping, he resembles a ruffled bird. "Is that what you think? No, I don't. I've buried regret so deep inside my heart that not you, not even him can dig it out."

"You fret over everything too much. His mood will soon change and His Highness will be the first one to forget about it."

"Shouldn't you be investigating money counterfeiting cases, talking to merchants and that puffed up excuse of a financial minister? When His Highness is feeling better, I'll suggest removing the idiot from that position. Or perhaps I shouldn't bother Gaius with such trifle and dismiss him myself. No, I won't bother him... Do we have better candidates?"

"Perhaps..."

"Then find me one immediately!" Wingul averts his face and adds quietly, "Even for him, I refuse to degrade myself so. I won't become a court jester... I was a patriarch once, you know."

Presa retreats slowly, wiggling her hips (by now she should know that it has no effect on him, but then, in all likelihood, she doesn't act seductively on purpose), and Wingul once again returns to his morose reflections. In his youth, he was known as the little resourceful General because of his talent for tactics and strategy, but what are his talents and resourcefulness worth now if he cannot even dispel his king's boredom? Of course, he can always call Nils and that kind soul won't object even if Wingul asks him to put on a jester's attire and entertain the very man whom he had never forgiven for the demise of the Londau clan. No, Wingul retained enough wit to deal with Gaius's idiosyncrasies without debasing himself or begging for anyone's help.

So he goes to the kitchens where he picks up Gaius's dinner, then to his room, and only after all the preparations are complete does he enter the king's chambers. Gaius confines himself to small cozy quarters, which resemble an attic, where he sits in a deep armchair, propping his head with his hand, and stares into the distance. From time to time he rises, paces up and down the room, then sinks back into that deep chair, a favorite of his, and does not move for hours.

"I brought you food," Wingul says, but the king does not acknowledge his words. He wants to eat in silence and Wingul respects his wish, leaving with a barely visible smile on his lips. If he knows Gaius well, it won't be long before he discovers the little surprise and he won't be able to resist the temptation to follow through with the plan.

It ceases snowing by the time Wingul takes a small car down the mountain from the castle to Khan Baliq. He mingles with the crowd which gathered by a shop, elbows his way to the merchant who is arguing with a plump woman dressed in a coat and warm boots and, in spite of numerous protests, hands him the coin. "I am from the palace," Wingul says and the clamor dies down. "I need wood." The merchant nods and with obsequious haste puts together a small bundle of finest wood: there is red wood in it and pine wood and wood with fruity fragrance which is brought from southernmost part of Rashugal and the throng watches him silently although citizens tilt their heads, exchanging quiet words, and their eyes flicker with curiosity. In other states and even in Ajur during the reign of Sarakhs tribe, to be _from the palace _meant to be an embodiment of mystery and enigmas seized the minds of people anwhere. In Ajur, during the reign of king Gaius, the impregnable fortress atop the mountain opened its gates to the people and many of them had seen what transpired inside it, who lived there, but the inhabitants of the palace, although they lost that air of mystery, still retained their attractiveness in the eyes of Ajur citizens.

"It's Wingul from the Chimeriad," one of the boys cries out and sticks his tongue out. "Win-gul, Win-gul, we're not scared of you, gull."

When did he become a bogeyman for little children? Perhaps after very vague rumors about Labari Hollow had reached the capital. What can they know? Wingul eyes the boy from head to toe, bending the brows, and the smile wanes on the child's face. He pales and hides behind his mother's skirt and the woman gazes at him pleadingly and apologetically. "Forgive him, sir, he's just a child..." she whispers. Wingul contemptuously shrugs his shoulders, picks up the bundle of wood and, having wrapped himself in a long white scarf, strides off towards the setting sun. He walks along not observing what is about him and not caring to observe it and leaves the city without being noticed.

Outside Khan Baliq, if by the entrance to Xailen Woods, one turns right, there will appear before his eyes a small glade surrounded by tall stone walls. On that snowbound glade of which only a few locals knew, stands a desolated hut built in a shape of an igloo. Inside is a small hearth and a few pieces of furniture which are old and covered in thick cobwebs. Wingul ignites the fire with a simple fire arte and, watching long grotesque shadows quiver on the walls (they remind him of something, he thinks), wistfully removes the cobwebs. Then he wipes the dust and rime off the wooden surfaces, arranges the glasses and bottles on the table and admires his work for a bit.

"Your note... I found it," a familiar voice catches him unawares and Wingul shivers from the waft of icy wind which steals up to him from the chink in the door as his very much expected visitor enters. "It was written in that old code language of ours... and the igloo... What's the meaning of it?"

"_Waitun umu, Arst_," soflty replies Wingul.

"Truly, there is no end to your bold escapades. You will explain yourself, Wingul," sternly objects Gaius. "I sought solitude and silence for a short while. Is it too much to ask for?"

"If you weren't interested, you'd never come." Wingul pours him a glass of wine. "Have you by chance forgotten what this place is?"

"No, I haven't."

"You built it yourself, long ago, when you first ascended the throne of Ajur, and tonight for a short while you won't be Gaius and I won't be Wingul. Call me Lin, will you? I like it when you call me by my long forgotten name."

Some of the lustre returns to Gaius's eyes as he accepts the rules of Wingul's game. _"__Shi tiaeti baesu yaiodi umutin'mutiuimusu, Lin," _he muses. "How did you guess what was on my mind?"

Wingul extends his king a glass of wine and they drink in silence. "I am your most trusted adviser. It's my job to guess what you're thinking about. But you can thank Presa, she gave me this idea... I was preparing to entertain you in any way I could think of even if I had to dress as a jester. I didn't know what I should do..."

"I wasn't that desperate, you know."

"It's easy for you to say," Wingul shifts closer to the fire. "Do you recall how we lay siege to Khan Baliq? I dressed like you and led our forces in a desperate ground offense which was doomed from the start. And you dressed like me and led an attack from the air and even so we struggled and Merad managed to escape. I always blamed myself for letting him flee, but in the end... it wasn't our fault in the least."

"But we already knew we'd win," Gaius sits himself upon a stool, twirling the empty glass in his hands. "A disciplined army will win over an undisciplined army thrice its size with ease. And I am talking about coordinating forces with a particular kind of natural harmony which is achieved only when a leader has personal allegiance of his subordinates. Merad always underestimated the power of people."

The power of people reminded Wingul of a tidal wave and therefore he admired Gaius who always managed to manipulate it masterfully, direct it into narrow riverbed or use its destructive might to his advantage.

"If you were Arst again, would you change anything?"

"I... don't know. I probably wouldn't." Gaius drinks up another glass, then refills it. "Don't do it to yourself."

Wingul stares into the king's eyes far longer than it is appropriate by any etiquette. "Do you think you can beat me in a drinking game again?"

"I'm certain I can beat you effortlessly, with or without your booster."

And so they drink and Wingul feels his reason slipping away from him; he laughs and heartily sings songs ('_My brave boys, my brave boys Will drive all the care far away_') but Gaius looks as imperturbable as when he walked into the igloo, only smiles more often. And Wingul envies his calm and self-restraint, but soon there isn't room in his thoughts for complicated matters, he feels as though his life will never be as fine again and his heart so much afloat, he, grinning wryly, climbs onto Gaius's lap and somehow he is wearing only his long white scarf and underpants. No, he isn't a jester, Wingul mumbles. Gaius's hands are improperly resting on his waist, Gaius's lips attempt to kiss his neck, but he laughs and moves away. Everything seems quite humorous to him. For instance, he thinks how intense the expression on the king's face is and how bright his eyes are and how smooth his sunkissed skin, and those thoughts amuse him to such an extent that when Gaius undoes his underpants and wraps his legs around his waist, Wingul notices naught. Then, between tortuously short kisses, he tries to say that the bed is rusty and its legs will break, to which Gaius whispers that they don't need a bed. The edge of the table is a bit rough against his back, but the inconvenience can't hinder him from enjoying the sight of the king's imposing and nude figure, shining with the dark-red sheen of dying fire. It can't hinder him from feeling satisfaction when Gaius is inside him or pleasure from losing himself in the rhythmic movements of Gaius's thighs. His intoxication oozes away; all is intense again, his desire, his pain, his pleasure. It doesn't help at all when Gaius touches him in the most intimate way he can imagine and Wingul moans. He doesn't want to give in too soon, but the king is unbending when he makes love to him.

"_U etu miti jimun bautia yaio__,_" he says in a low voice when Gaius moves back. He is tired and the air in the hut is no longer cold against his flushed skin, but he grips his lover's hips and kneels down on the rough wooden floor covered only with a white furcoat (he will probably have to ask Jiao to make him a new one at this rate). They are both insatiable. Wingul's catlike eyes are half-closed, but the taste on his tongue is all too familiar.

Spirits be damned, Gaius won't have the time to be bored that night.


	4. By trial and error

**Author's note: **This one is for **Yume Hanabi **for too many reasons I cannot type XP.

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**By trial and error**

When they leave the warm and cozy marquee together, Nils gazes at them with a horrified expression as if he knows the reason, but his naive servant is merely worried about him, about his health, about him having to ride an untamed wyvern while paying no nevermind to every other telltale sign that he is in truth preoccupied with different thoughts. It is their moment of triumph for which they lived and fought four years, they are one step away from capturing Khan Baliq and establishing Gaius's dominion over the kingdom of Ajur. Gaius, too, is imbued with the sense of this moment's singular importance, and Wingul won't fret over something as trifling as riding a wyvern. He wishes naught more than to share it with the future king.

At times, Wingul marvels at the unlikely circumstances which led to their alliance. He marvels at the string of event which is so frail that had he or Gaius done something differently, they would now be enemies. He marvels at himself, too. They work together as a harmonious mechanism, Gaius and him. Gaius is the gear, Wingul is the oil; Gaius walks, Wingul shares the weight of his burden so that he can walk briskly; Gaius speaks, Wingul carries his message; Gaius burns brightly, like a beacon, and Wingul is the wind which fans that flame. And in the end he falls in love with the very man whose actions led to his mother's suicide, knowing in the darkest corners of his soul that he was right. The feeling of rightness, however, does not diminish the importance of how marvelous was its birth.

"What are you thinking about, Wingul?" Asks Gaius, putting the harness on a wild wyvern, and it obediently stands still until he finishes the preparations. Wingul awkwardly takes the reins, fighting a suddenly very palpable fear of heights and riding unfamiliar flying animals notwithstanding his previous certainty that he won't fret over such trifle. He cannot fail Gaius, he cannot fail himself, because although he knows their alliance was a marvel, he does not believe in marvels; even as a child, he was too pragmatic in every circumstance to put his trust into something unfathomable, incalculable. But he believes in the value of duty, he always did without anyone ever having to teach him that faith.

"Are you sure we can't let Nils in on our plan?" Perhaps if he had Nils with him, he wouldn't be anxious.

"We aren't telling Nils or Yan... we aren't telling anyone until the very last day before the siege. I am not taking that risk when I know I can trust you," Gaius fixes his eyes upon him and Wingul goes hot and cold all over. "And I can trust you, can't I?"

"Ah... why do you even ask? I'll never... But can you trust them?" Smiling dreamily, he passes his hand over the wyvern's neck and it sniffs the collar of his fur coat dusted with snow. "It's not their fault at all, they are wild and careless and free. They were not taught to obey us like the wyverns of Kitarl clan."

"I'd agree with you if it was possible to capture Khan Baliq in any other way. We looked at many possibilities and our only chance is to strike from the air when Merad and his retainers won't expect us... They are so certain – remember we discussed it? - they are certain that without Kitarl's help, we won't be able to fly. But we will and today you and I are going to prove it." Gaius impetuously flings himself into the saddle, draws the reins and the beast takes a running jump, disappearing from the youth's view.

'So there he goes and I wonder if he is courageous or reckless,' Wingul thinks, throwing a morose glance at the guiltless wyvern as if it was responsible for his latest misfortunes. Of course, the beast shows no understanding or compassion for the sacrifices he makes in the line of duty as he bravely clambers onto its back. He desperately hopes he won't fall too soon. There is nothing irrational in his reluctance to embarrass himself in front of the future king and the object of his affection. 'No, his reasoning is impeccable and I already agreed to it, I even came up with the trick to switch our outfits before the battle... Then what are these sudden doubts?'

He gives the wyvern a gentle nudge, it rushes towards the exit, taking wing gracefully, and he is flying. It is late Undis and in this remote region of Mon Highlands, snow begins to thaw, baring black patches on the ground, and it looks marvelously like a hide of a snow leopard, trees, houses appearing blurred into the same dark shapeless blotches. Wingul is flying and his head begins to reel, but he holds the reins firmly, feeling as if he is one with the wyvern. He is fascinated when the beast obeys his artes, dizzy and fascinated to be so high above ground although from sharp gusts of wind tears well up in his eyes and soon he cannot see whereto he directs the wyvern's flight. He draws the rein abruptly and guides it upwards, through clouds, imbued with a sudden feeling of invincibility and imprudent courage to catch up with Gaius, to surpass Gaius. The unsurpassed blue of the sky overhead swallows him, he is a droplet in the deep ocean, drowning, dissolving...

And then the wyvern's wing hits something, it lets out a painful cry and awkwardly tumbles down, in spite of his desperate attempts to rein it in, to order it to obey him. The beast thrashes and he, wrapping his arms around its neck, manages to stay on its back as it descends, chaotically and rapidly, towards an unremarkable spot of land. His courage dissolves and elation vanishes. His heart sinks, he shuts his eyes tightly, bracing himself, but the landing is surprisingly painless – the wyvern, responding to his last order, shields him from the impact at the cost of its own life. It lies there in a pile of broken bones, bloodied flesh and torn wings. Wingul crawls towards the edge of water, he notices small yellow flowers and the reflection of reed, swaying in the wind, and realizes where he is: The name of this place haunted Gaius for a while, it still does. He finds himself in Fayzabad Marsh.

Wingul wipes the blood off his forehead and scrambles onto a small hill overgrown with plants whose lush green leaves reach a size of a small table top and after a brief struggle with a current attains the opposite side of a small rivulet. There, exhausted and soaked to the bone, he sits upon a dry boulder, but no sooner does he close his eyes than a familiar voice hails him.

"Wingul, I saw you fall. What happened? Did you lose control of the wyvern?" Gaius outstretches his arm and helps him rise. He is embarrassed and angry, but also proud, for he flew, he did something terrible and dangerous. What youth didn't dream of doing something terrible and dangerous? Perhaps, only Nils, poor Nils with his staunch dedication to tradition and rules, with his kindness and naïve desire to preserve his own innocence, as if nothing he feared more than losing it, did not dream of it.

"It's silly, Gaius, but I don't know. I didn't lose control of it, it seemed as if..." Wingul strains his memory, "... as if it hit something and damaged its wing... something I could not see. But I advise, out of prudence, not to fly too high."

"I had no trouble controlling the wyvern. It resisted at first, but submitted quite quickly." Gaius strokes the beast's neck and it lowers its head onto his shoulder. "I've never flown before, but I easily succeeded and, from your own words, so did you. We should begin training our soldiers immediately."

"It wasn't my fault... that it died."

"It isn't the wyvern's death that concerns me and you know it." It was spoken flatly, but with certain power which sends shivers down Wingul's spine and to conceal his confusion, he pulls down one of his boots and, uncouthly jumping on one foot, shakes water out of it. Memories, dancing like butterflies in the wind, and he can't flee from them.

"Commander, we can't continue the mission regardless. It is thus my concern that... our preparations might suffer..." _Don't look into his eyes, it'll make your attempts to say something even more pathetic_.

"So it doesn't concern you in the least that we will have to fly on the same wyvern," Gaius says daringly. He appears to be quite amused by the outcome, but Wingul does not understand what it is that he altogether finds amusing.

"N-no, I do not know why it should... unless, of course, both of us are too heavy for it to carry. Then you must get back to the main encampment as quickly as possible..."

"And leave you here? Don't be foolish, Wingul. I merely thought... see for yourself, the saddle is narrow."

Often a word is enough for him to understand Gaius. He takes off the saddle, leaving only reins, climbs onto the wyvern's back, but when Gaius joins him, he suddenly realizes what his commander truly meant and to that problem there is no rational solution. Even without the saddle, they are so close to each other that Wingul's back is pressed against Gaius's chest when the youth tightens the reins and the wyvern abruptly spirals upwards. His clothes are wet, which only aggravates him more, and he shifts and fidgets restlessly in an attempt to move away, but feels even more uncomfortable and miserable in the end. Cold wind chills to the marrow and Wingul begins to quiver.

"Don't squirm, Wingul," Gaius whispers into his ear and he feels trapped. The wyvern makes a sharp turn and the scenery beneath him changes in color, from dark-green to sparkling blue. It must be a small lake, clear as the mirror of heaven. Guided by the confident hand, the beast glides smoothly, its wings gracefully spread, and Wingul stares down, mesmerized. "That's better."

"What did you say? I didn't hear you aright." He replies, recollecting suddenly that he forgot to.

"Don't squirm, you're distracting me."

"Distracting you... How?"

Gaius grips both leather straps with one hand and slips the other underneath the layers of wet cloth. "Distracting me like that," the response is a stroke, brief and casual, but it is enough for Wingul to feel more miserable and aroused at once.

"Gaius..." his throat is dry. "I-I..."

"However, since this mission has already gone awry, we might abandon it altogether and," his hand slips further down, warm, tantalizing, "welcome the distraction."

He utters a muffled sound of startle and pleasure, turning his head towards Gaius and raising his gaze, but the youth's eyes are concealed by disheveled hair. "Gaius, no..." The wyvern hovers with a jerk, but before they lose control of it, Wingul takes the reins out of Gaius's hand and firmly gives it the direction. Upwards. "What were you thinking?"

Gaius frowns, withdraws himself a little and Wingul regrets his words at once.

"I wasn't thinking, I forgot myself, my action was out of place..." Wingul bates his breath. "Confound it! We won't get a better chance in weeks..."

Sometimes Wingul, perhaps because of his young age or inexperience in such matters, forgets how impatient, demanding and sensual Gaius can be. And maybe brazen, careless, thoughtless, all those things at once... He nearly falls off the wyvern's back when Gaius passes his tongue over his earlobe, but the young commander holds him firmly in his arms.

"You'll cause me to fall." Even his voice is begging for more. All those times come to his mind when he could only dream of finding himself in such an intimate circumstance, but now that he does, he wants more. He can't voice it aloud because he is afraid it is inappropriate, but he finds a way to speak of his desires without words. Even without hands. He is afraid to glance down, but the fear isn't strong enough to stop him from turning so that he can kiss Gaius on the lips, with tongue and various tricks he learned (and here it must be said, learned very quickly). Gaius was never an experienced kisser himself when they first tried as if he never cared to learn. And Wingul was desperate to learn, using it to his advantage, a strategist even in love. He knows that Gaius loses his cool easily when he gently bites his lower lip and the force with which Gaius's tongue follows, the force with which his fingers grip his hair is a telltale sign that the youth's weaknesses and passions remain the same.

The wyvern senses its freedom, but instead of rebelling, fatigued from carrying both of them for so long, meekly lands on the ground. And only then does it remind them that they overstayed their welcome. Wingul lets go of the rein and falls first, Gaius – albeit more gracefully – follows and the satisfied animal calmly sets about eating its long awaited evening meal.

"Gaius, what..."

His commander looks slightly confounded. "It seems to me the wyvern is too tired to travel anywhere today. I hoped we would at least reach a nearby inn..."

'Nils will be worried,' Wingul thinks absent-mindedly. His friend and servant often liked to repeat that Gaius's was a terrible influence. He would be devastated and angry and offended if he learned the truth. He approaches Gaius and presses his head against the youth's broad back. 'I am glad to be with you, that's all. Whenever, wherever.'

But aloud he says something else entirely. "It wasn't such a good idea to ride a wyvern together."

Gaius's confusion is gone and he responds somewhat merrily, "But that's how we learn, by trial and error."

That night, by trial an error, they learn that sleeping on the cold ground in each other's arms is more enjoyable than either of them could have known that morning.


End file.
